Left Behind
by Darce'Davis
Summary: If I walk in front of him, I'll become an obstacle. If I walk beside him, eventually, I won't be able to keep up. But if I let him take the lead, I'll be left behind. Chris x Gordie. (Spoilers if you haven't seen the movie, work in progress.)


"Why'd he have to die, Chris?" May have been the hardest question I had ever been asked. I had been asked why I was such a pussy. I had been asked how I had never seen a girls tits other than those on Eyeball's magazines, and of course, when I was caught with them I had been asked how I wanted to die. But still. When his lip quivered and he asked me again, "Why did Denny have to die." I had nothing to say. Because Dennis wasn't supposed to, Gordie. But maybe it was all in God's sick plans to punish you for being our messiah. For leading us towards a future where we are free from the shadows of our families that constantly keep us in the dark. Maybe God, even if I never once believed in his existence, was testing you Gordie. Maybe he wanted to make sure that even when enclosed in a cave that runs so deep that no one can hear you scream, that you can still find the light. Maybe you are the light. "Why." But I didn't tell him any of this. I just told him that I didn't know, and watched him take an internal step away from me and farther into the cavern's tunnels.

He imagined it then. I could see it on his face as it became lifeless. One tunnel that led to the death of his brother, and one that lead to his own passing. His train of thought went the wrong way though, as he told me it should've been him. But it couldn't have been. If he had died instead of Denny, Teddy and Vern would've had nothing left. And I would've had too much guilt for what I was never able to do right. Be your light, that shines so obnoxiously bright directly in your eyes for extended bursts of time, so strong that there was no way to ignore it. If he died, I would've been as useless as the cigarettes my old man has put out on me. Maybe that sounds selfish, that I've convinced myself I have a purpose, and that my purpose is to make sure Gordie fulfills his, but I don't give a fucking care. Not to mention, who knows how his parents would've felt. Maybe they wouldn't have been the same fucktards they are now, or maybe, even back then, they still saw Gordie as nothing. Maybe they could've lived their life like they were missing nothing and had no regrets, no sadness, no tears. But it's Gordie's turn to know he is loved, by someone other than his sibling who was the only receiver of timeless affection. I slung an arm around him.

"Don't say that man, don't say that." I pleaded, rubbing his shoulder as I glanced at the dead boy just feet away from where we sat. We need you Gordie. You can't die.

"I'm no good, my dad said it, I'm no good." His eyes blackened as his jaw began to shake.

"He doesn't know you." Not like we do.

"He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you." I said slowly, hoping to convince even myself.

"He hates me."

"NO!" I argued. His whole posture shriveled up like a puppet finally cut from his strings. Maybe he was beginning to see that he didn't need to devote his life to pleasing someone that didn't want to be pleased. "He just doesn't know you." I try again. He doesn't know you like I do, Gordie. I need you. His weighted sobs continued as I held him close, letting him rest his head on my shoulder, extending through to an arm just struggling to keep a hold on the trembling boy. I thought of what I asked him yesterday, when the positions were swapped and his hand clutched my sadness and then opened his palm to let it fly away. Maybe I asked him the hardest question he had ever been asked. When I asked him, if I was a pussy for crying so damn hard. I didn't believe him when he told me no. But this.

This is real too. And it's his own fucking right to cry. It makes him stronger. And that's when I realized. I was the weakest of us all. "You're gonna be a great writer someday." I assured him, rubbing his back as he continued to weep. But what am I? The friend of a writer? The old friend of a writer that got left in the dust? I'm an asshole too, cause even though I want him to reach success so he can learn of pride as well as deliver the biggest "fuck you" to his dumb fuck ass bitch of a father, I didnt want to let go of my friends either. I didn't want them to leave me. "Maybe someday you'll even write about us guys." I said,. "If you ever get real hard-up for material."

His tears turned gentle as he wiped them away. He looked me dead in the eyes as he smiled. "I guess", a sudden choke, "I'd have to be really hard-up, huh?" His cheeks, stained with freckles and tears, were an innocent shade of pink. I lowered my head on to his, praying that, at least, he wouldn't forget the people he left behind.

I was gonna tell him that when I heard a voice I never wanted to hear again. "What the fuck do we know about this?" It taunted. And there stood Ace, his smug expression plastered on to his asshole shaven face.


End file.
